The Stranger Read Online Free Page B

storm-protection systems. Purring softly, the translucent shutters lowered in sequence, securing the house against the wind. All systems were go.
    I put Summer’s wet clothes in the dryer on my way to the office. I sat down on my chair and rubbed my back against the leather. The old injuries were acting up tonight. The satellite connection was out of commission, but I activated my backup communication system and made a quick call to Jer to ask for his help tomorrow.
    It was close to ten o’clock when I finished talking to my brother, which meant that it was around six o’clock at corporate headquarters in New York, an hour after regular office hours. No problem. My chief of cyber security was a workaholic who insisted on being on call 24/7. Sure enough, John Spider’s face showed up on my screen at the first ring.
    “Hey,” Spider said, sharp features pixelated but recognizable. “I guess the new backup communication system is working.”
    “So far, so good,” I said.
    Spider was a bit of a singularity, a middle-aged west coast surfer with a killer IQ living on the east coast. He was a legend in cyber security, which meant he was also a legendary hacker. He’d been my professor and mentor at MIT. He was also my friend.
    “I’m tracking that monster storm in your neighborhood,” Spider said. “The satellite pics are cool, man. But I can’t imagine you called me to chitchat about the weather.”
    “You’re right,” I said. “I need you to look into something, quick turnaround.”
    “Sure thing,” Spider said. “Whatever you need.”
    I held the driver’s license up to the camera. “Summer Silva.”
    “Oh, a dudette?” Spider flashed his crowded teeth and took a screenshot. “Good going, man, is the old Seth back?”
    No, the old Seth was dead. He wasn’t coming back, but I refrained from stating the obvious because, even though Spider was nosy as hell, he didn’t deserve my rage.
    “Can you do the job or not?”
    “Of course I can.” Spider’s awful grin widened. “She looks hot.”
    “Shut the hell up.”
    “I mean it,” Spider said. “You got your eye on her?”
    “Sudden visitor,” I said. “Satisfied? Can you zip it now?”
    “Got it.” He plaited his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. “Call you right back.”
    I returned the driver’s license to Summer’s wallet and stuck my head in the bedroom. Rolled up in the duvet, she was out like a marmot in a winter burrow. I went back to my office and caught up with the workload. Today’s emergency had really screwed up my schedule. I answered my emails then turned my attention to the financial reports piling in my inbox. The board meeting was coming up in less than a month and I was on the hunt.
    I studied the financials closely. Alex had to be siphoning money out of the company, but how and from where? I dove into that. The best byproduct of a solid work addiction was that it made time pass faster. Somewhere around midnight, my screen beeped and Spider came back online.
    “Hiya,” he said. “Summer Silva, daughter of Cuban-American architect Miguel Silva, an immigrant who arrived during the Mariel boatlift in 1980. He’s credited with the design of some of Miami’s most innovative buildings, including the iconic Fountain Way, a high-rise residential complex taught in architecture schools all over the world.”
    “What’s his personal history?”
    “Married, then widowed. Dudette’s mother drowned in an accident when she was a kid. Father remarried after that. He took a huge financial hit during the recession, got sick and died five years ago.”
    Images flashed on the screen as Spider spoke, pictures of the Mariel boatlift and a newspaper interview with Miguel Silva himself, describing a harrowing ordeal when his boat capsized in the Florida Straits. Obituaries, marriage, birth, and baptismal certificates paraded before my eyes, as did Summer’s school records all the way to her university transcripts.
    “She’s